The Grimani Affair
by Belgaer's Voice
Summary: Renzo and Morosina travel to visit their long-lost aunt, Bella Grimani. The siblings, along with Victor, Scipio, and Hornet, quickly become embroiled in a plot to steal the enormous fortune she inherits from the Valaresso family.
1. Unexpected Visitors

A/N: This story takes place about six months after "The Thief Lord" ends. It focuses mostly on Renzo and Morosina, though it shall be necessary to use other points of view later on. The Mrs. Grimani mentioned in the story, is, as you shall see, the Mrs. Grimani that lives next door to Victor.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Cornelia Funke. I may or may not own the characterizations of Hornet's Evil!Parents and the legend of the Valaresso murder.

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The Grimani Affair  
By Belgaer's Voice 

Chapter One: Unexpected Visitors

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Renzo steered the boat deftly through the lagoon, heading for the canals of Venice proper. The tops of the magnificent towers and spires were faint in the distance, lit by the pale yellow glow of the rising sun. They grew steadily higher as the sailboat clipped along. 

"Have you thought at all about how we're going to explain this?" Morosina asked from behind him. "What is Bella going to say when two children turn up on her doorstep claiming to be her long-lost cousins?"

"I think she'll believe us if we just tell her about the merry-go-round," Renzo said. "She always used to be one to believe in fairy tales."

"But how do we prove that we're her cousins?" his sister asked. Renzo pulled a delicate locket from underneath his shirt. Morosina gasped.

"You remember Mother's locket?" he asked. "Bella gave it to her years ago. She wore it all the time, and always when Bella came to visit. She'll recognize it."

"Where did you find it?" Morosina asked, awestruck. "I thought it had gotten lost years ago!"

"It was in the mistress' jewelry box," answered Renzo.

Morosina looked as though she had been slapped. "That horrible woman," she breathed. "She stole it! And we never knew."

Renzo turned his attention back to steering. It was more difficult now that he had such small arms, but he managed. He thought about his favorite cousin, Bella Grimani. Her visits had always been the bright spot of their Christmas holidays, because she always brought them presents and snuck them into their rooms while the master was preoccupied. The cousins had not seen each other since Bella went away to college in Rome. She had promised them she'd come back to Venice, and Renzo was sure she was still living there. A careful search of names and addresses had revealed that a woman by the name of Bella Grimani was in fact living in Venice. Now, as Morosina took down the sail and the boat glided into the Sacca della Misericordia, Renzo wondered for the hundredth time whether this Bella Grimani could be the right one.

Morosina started up the boat's engine, which quietly putted into life and pushed them gently into the canals of Venice. She sat on a bench near the rail and gave directions to Renzo as he steered. As they moved slowly along, people on the banks gave them odd looks. _I suppose we must look like orphans,_ Renzo mused. _Orphans who own a sailboat._

By the time they reached the right canal, the sun was up, faintly warming the city and bathing the rooftops with a bright golden glow, as if to announce: _Spring is here._ Morosina switched the engine off and the boat settled and stopped, rocking with the canal water. Renzo looked around almost nervously at the houses, and quickly spotted the one whose door was marked number five.

As Morosina tied the boat to a striped mooring pole, it occurred to him that he might have made some sort of contact with Bella before turning up at her front door. But they had taken the boat trip all the way back into Venice, and they might as well go and see her. Besides, Renzo had been looking forward to this visit for weeks. Why turn back now?

As the two adults-turned-children stepped carefully out of the boat and onto the bank, a man in his forties walked out onto the balcony of number six and spat into the gleaming canal water near the boat. He seemed not to see the two siblings, which suited them just fine. Morosina climbed the stairs of number five and knocked boldly on the door.

It was opened a moment later by a plump, cheerful-looking woman who looked to be in her seventies. When she saw Renzo and Morosina, her expression immediately changed to one of mingled shock and terror.

"Who- who _are_ you?" she asked. "I think I'm going crazy- you two look just like my cousins- but I haven't seen them since- well, since they were your age." she stopped suddenly, staring at them confusedly.

"You haven't gone crazy, Bella," said Morosina consolingly. "It's us. Renzo and Morosina."

Bella Grimani looked from one of them to the other, disbelieving. "You can't be," she said. "They were younger than me, but not _that_ young… they should be seventy years old by now!"

"We _are_ seventy years old," explained Renzo heavily. "Or we were. How we got this way is a long story. But we are your cousins. I'll prove it to you." He unfastened the locket from around his neck and held it out to the old lady, who took it with shaking hands and looked it over.

"I don't believe this," she breathed. She opened the locket to find a picture of herself as she had been at twelve years old. "I gave this to my aunt years ago. It was her favorite piece of jewelry. How did you come across it?" She suddenly looked suspicious. "You didn't steal it?"

Alarmed that his only piece of evidence might be suspected as a fraud, Renzo explained: "No, of course not. We've been living on the Isola Segreta for many years now, and I recently found it in the mistress' jewelry box."

"The mistress?" asked Bella.

"Yes," answered Morosina angrily. "The mistress of the Valaresso household. She stole it from our mother, the stupid woman."

"Morosina, be quiet," said Renzo forcefully. He turned back to Ms. Grimani. "She did steal it from our mother, though. It's the only thing I have that could prove we're telling the truth."

The elderly woman turned the locket over in her hands with a frown, presumably thinking. Then she looked up at Renzo.

"So, how did Renzo and Morosina turn into children?" she asked. "Do come in; I'll make you something to drink and you can tell me the whole story- oh, good morning, Signor Getz!" She waved to the man emerging from the door of number six. He was the same man who had spat into the canal a few minutes ago.

"_Buongiorno_, Ms. Grimani," replied Signor Getz. He walked over to her front door, examining the children curiously. "Are these your grandchildren?"

"Actually, they're my c-"

"We're just some neighborhood kids," interrupted Renzo quickly. "We came to deliver some groceries."

Getz looked suspicious of his excuse, but did not say anything. Instead, he turned about and called to a young man standing at the top of the stairs of his house. "Scipio, hurry up!" The man bounded down the stairs and over toward Getz.

"All right, all right, I'm ready-" he stopped abruptly as his eyes met Renzo's.

The children and Scipio all spoke at the same time: "What are you doing here?" they asked.

Ms. Grimani and the older man looked at them quizzically. "You know these chil- these people?" Ms. Grimani asked Scipio.

Signor Getz turned towards him, a stern look on his face. "Yes, Scipio. Do tell. I think we'd all like to know."

Scipio moved to stand behind Morosina and Renzo. "Victor, this is Renzo and this is Morosina. Renzo, Morosina, this is Victor Getz, my friend… and my boss."

There was an expectant pause. When Scipio did not continue, Victor said, "And? How do you know them?"

"Well, it's a long story," Scipio said.

"Renzo and Morosina were just about to tell me a long story," Mrs. Grimani said. "If you have time, why don't you all come in and we can hear all about this."

Victor checked his watch. "All right," he said. "I suppose we can put off researching our case until this afternoon. In any event, I want to hear what this is all about."

Mrs. Grimani turned and led the way inside, and the group of people on her doorstep followed her. Renzo, tarrying on the stoop, shut the door behind them.

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A/N:Here's hoping you enjoyed your read!(Raises glass) Please review; I would be much obliged if you did. Constructive criticism welcomed with open arms. 


	2. The Whole Story

Mrs. Grimani led her visitors into a warm, spacious kitchen. "Do sit down," the old woman implored. "Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, perhaps, or tea?"

"Coffee would be wonderful," Victor said.

"And we would like tea, if you please," said Renzo.

Mrs. Grimani set to bustling about the kitchen, which was soon filled with the warm aroma of roast coffee beans. Once the drinks had been served, she sat down, stirring her tea.

"Now," she said. "Who shall tell their long story first?"

"I will," Scipio volunteered.

"No, we'd better," Morosina said. "Our story goes back further than yours."

Renzo sighed. "My sister and I were servants of the Valaresso," he began. "One night, when we were about fifteen, the whole family was murdered. No one ever caught the murderer, you know that. It's become popular legend, I understand."

"The Valaresso murders," Victor said, sounding excited. "The most famous unsolved crime in Venice."

"Yes," Renzo said. "We were sleeping in the barn that night as punishment. The killer didn't find us. We didn't know anything had been going on until the next morning, when we woke up and found the master dead. When the authorities came to investigate, we slipped away to Murano for a while, until everyone left. We returned to the island, and we've been living there all our lives. We bought and trained mastiffs to alert us to anyone who snuck onto the island."

"How did you support yourselves? And what do you mean, 'When we were fifteen?'" Victor asked. "Pardon me, but you don't look any older than twelve." He looked sideways at Renzo as if he guessed more than he was telling. It made Renzo uncomfortable.

"We found a stash of money under one of the floorboards," Morosina explained. "We also came into the city occasionally and sold the Valaresso's jewelry and trinkets." She stopped abruptly, avoiding Victor's last question. Victor and Bella watched her expectantly.

Renzo knew what was coming next. They would have to explain their transformation from adults to children. On one hand, he wanted desperately to tell his cousin the truth, but on the other hand, the merry-go-round had been his and his sister's closely guarded secret for half their lives. He didn't quite trust Victor. Scipio was watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye.

"And?" asked Victor. "If you were fifteen when the Valaresso murders took place, you ought to be seventy. Unless you're lying."

"We're **not** lying," Morosina said severely.

"The way this happened is... a secret, Victor," Scipio said somewhat uncomfortably. "Prop and I swore we wouldn't tell anyone what happened."

Victor appeared to think. "Scipio," he said finally. "We need to know. Please tell us."

Renzo looked carefully between Victor and Mrs. Grimani. "Do you swear not to tell another soul?"

"Yes," said the man and the old woman simultaneously.

Renzo sighed. "Very well then. I will try to be brief. Our master hired thieves to steal the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters." Mrs. Grimani gasped. "But they left behind one of the lion's wings, as you probably know. Without that wing, it was useless, so it was stuck in a small clearing on the side of the Isola Segreta the Valaresso never visited. It remained there until one day Morosina found it. Soon we thought that if we found the wing, we could repair the merry-go-round and..."

"And perhaps ride it," finished Victor.

"So we searched Venice for years," Renzo continued, "Until we found the wing: it hung over the mantle of a photographer named Ida Spavento. And we looked for a thief to procure it for us. We had heard about a man who called himself the Thief Lord. He was supposed to be a grandmaster of burglary." Renzo gave Scipio a wry smile.

Victor snorted. "Grandmaster of burglary indeed," he said. Scipio shot him a wounded look.

"Did you know the Thief Lord?" Mrs. Grimani asked Victor.

"He _is_ the Thief Lord," Victor nodded towards Scipio. "Or, he was, until he ran into these two."

"He did seem quite young to be a thief," Renzo said. "Nevertheless, he got the wing to us, and we were able to repair and ride the merry-go-round."

"Scipio took a turn on it as well," Victor added. Scipio folded his arms across his chest, looking thoroughly displeased. "He was only a boy when he rode it."

"I was **not** only a boy!" Scipio snapped. "I could have taken care of myself." Victor ignored him.

"That's the story, as it stands, Bella," said Renzo. "Do you believe us?"

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Grimani. "So the Conte Valaresso stole the merry-go-round. All this time, it was on the Isola Segreta, and no one ever knew." She got up and fetched herself another teabag. When she sat down, she turned to Scipio and looked at him curiously. "Victor said you were only a boy when you rode the merry-go-round," she said.

"I'd rather not talk about it," said Scipio, whose arms were still folded.

"You know, the first time I saw you working with Victor, you reminded me of Dottor Massimo," she went on. Scipio's face remained impassive. "You came to work for him just after the Dottore's son went missing." A smile was widening on her face. "You are Scipio Massimo, am I right?" she said with quiet triumph.

"I am Scipio Fortunato now," Scipio said angrily. "You're very clever for an old woman."

"Scipio!" Victor admonished, shocked.

Morosina stood up abruptly. "Shut up," she said viciously. "You _dare_ to-"

"Sit down," Mrs. Grimani commanded, her voice surprisingly strong. "I will not have a brawl in my kitchen. I see I have touched on a sore spot. I apologize, Scipio."

"You were right, anyway," Scipio grumbled.

Victor stood up briskly, pressing his hands together. "Well, I think Scipio and I had better be going," he said cheerfully. "We've avoided our research for far too long. Thank you, Mrs. Grimani, Renzo, Morosina." He nodded to each of them in turn. "Come on, Scipio." The young man got up and resentfully followed Victor out of the kitchen and through the front door. Mrs. Grimani saw them out.

Once they were gone, the three people in the kitchen fell into an uneasy silence. Finally, Mrs. Grimani asked, "So, what made you decide to seek out your old cousin after so many years?"

"We wanted to see you, of course," said Morosina.

"I'm not exactly the most interesting of relatives," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Morosina said. "You're our favorite cousin, Bella. We hadn't seen you in over fifty years. We owed it to you to come."

"Well, what shall we do, now that you're here?" Bella asked. "Catch up on old times?"

Renzo smiled. "That sounds good," he said. Bella drew up a chair, and the three fell into discussing Christmases long past as outside, the sun rose higher and higher over the city of Venice.

Several hours later, Bella looked up at the clock. "Oh, goodness, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "It's half-past one and we haven't had lunch yet. Here, I'll start some water for pasta." Renzo and Morosina jumped up to help her. Soon the aroma of cooking noodles and simmering sauce filled the kitchen, and the three cousins felt overwhelmingly content.

A few minutes later, they all dished their spaghetti onto plates, and sat in companionable silence while they ate. Renzo marveled at how intense the tomatoes seemed in the sauce. Everything seemed to taste better now that he was young. He supposed his taste buds must have grown dull over the years.

After lunch Bella suggested they go up to the attic and rifle through old things. Renzo and Morosina couldn't object to that, so up they went to the third floor of the house, into a dusty little room that set them all sneezing and coughing.

"My goodness, Bella!" Morosina said, fiddling with the latch on the room's one tiny window. "Do you ever come up here?"

"Hardly ever, anymore," said Bella. "My knees just aren't up to taking the stairs."

Morosina unlatched the window, but when she pushed it, it would not budge. Rust and years had glued it shut. "Drat," she said. Then, deciding it was worth another go, she tugged the sash up with all her strength, and with a reluctant crack the window slid open. The afternoon air was refreshing on her face.

When she turned back to the others, they had already broken out the photo albums. Renzo was stroking the delicate, filmy plastic that covered the photographs, muttering to himself.

"Amazing!" he said. "All the pictures that were in the Valaresso books. Look, Morosina, there's the one of the whole family. My, that day was a fiasco."

"Why?" asked Bella. "I remember it being rather nice."

"Ah yes, Bella, but you were _in_ the picture," Morosina said. "You didn't have to bathe the mistress's youngest daughter and try to get her ready while she was screaming and clamoring to go and play."

"And you also didn't have to fetch down about a hundred different hats before the mistress decided on that one." Renzo pointed to the hat in question. "I never did understand what use one could have for so many hats."

"When you have money," said Bella, "You develop a fear that everyone is watching you, making sure you're always in style and always have the latest of everything. Those hats are just one example of that. It's one reason it felt so nice moving away from the family once I was married. The pressure was gone."

"When you have money," Renzo murmured, turning to Bella's wedding book.

Bella's words had reminded him of something that had always bothered him, ever since the murders. He and Morosina had been living on the Isola Segreta, in the house of the Valaresso, all their lives, and yet they had never found the fabled fortune. Long hours, long days they had spent rummaging around in closets, in crawl spaces, digging up likely spots in the garden and checking for false bottoms in trunks. But apart from the admittedly sizable sum hidden under a loose floorboard, they had found nothing. No banknotes, no stocks or bonds. There had been the mistress's jewelry, which had been useful when the rest of the money had run out, but no trace of the vast load of money that was said to belong to the family and its heirs.

There had been one rumor: the Valaresso had been owners and keepers of a legendary jewel, a brilliant sapphire called the Star of Venice. No one had ever seen the jewel, but it was said that it had magical properties, and besides that, it was the most beautiful sapphire in the world, having the exact deep hue and bright gleam of the Adriatic Sea. The jewel of the Jewel of the Adriatic. Renzo and Morosina had searched for that, too, to no avail. There had been sapphires among all the extravagant jewelry of the house, to be sure, but none matched the brilliance of the descriptions.

Renzo brought this up as he browsed through Bella's wedding pictures. Bella certainly had been a beautiful woman: she seemed to shine, smiling up at her new husband, Alfredo Grimani. "Bella?" Renzo said.

"Mm?" she said. She was already rummaging in a huge wooden chest.

"You heard about the size of the Valaresso fortune, right?"

His cousin turned around and looked at him. "Yes," she answered. "Why?"

"Well, I mean, wasn't it supposed to be vast?" Bella's wedding ring in the picture caught Renzo's eye. There was something odd about it: it was certainly larger than any other wedding ring he'd ever seen, even larger than the Valaresso mistress's. Renzo had never known Bella to have gaudy tastes. Then again, Alfredo could have chosen it. It also looked like a darker stone than diamond, though the photo was black-and-white and Renzo couldn't tell what color it was.

"The branch of the family tree that lived on the Isola was very wealthy, much more so than my family."

"But Morosina and I- we've lived there all our lives, and we never found anything other than the jewelry and the small stash. Nothing else."

"We assumed it was all in a bank account somewhere," Morosina said.

"You don't know anything about it, do you?" Renzo asked Bella.

Bella sighed. "No. I stopped paying attention to the goings-on of the Isola Valaresso long ago."

"But you never heard of a will?" Renzo pressed her.

"The investigators never found one."

"And neither did we," said Morosina. "Why would a rich man like Old Man Valaresso not leave a will?"

"Maybe the fortune wasn't in the house or the bank or any of the other stuff," said Renzo cautiously.

"What do you mean?" Morosina asked. Bella produced a small box from the trunk and turned around to hear their conversation.

" I mean…" Renzo said. "Do you remember that rumor we heard, about the Star of Venice?"

"You mean those hundred rumors?" Morosina asked. "Yes. What? You think the master owned the Star of Venice? Remember the months we spent looking for it, and it wasn't anywhere?"

"Yes," said Renzo. "But-"

"You can't still be on about it," Morosina said. "That was ages ago. You need to move on."

"No, you see," said Renzo. "What if the Valaresso had given it to someone for safekeeping? After all, they were murdered, and nobody ever found out why. What if the murderer wanted the Star of Venice?"

"Just because you look like a child doesn't mean you have to believe stupid things like one," said Morosina impatiently.

"What are you talking about?" Renzo demanded. "It's entirely possible."

"Oh, right," said Morosina, rolling her eyes. "It's entirely possible for there to exist a perfect deep blue sapphire with the most magical of properties." She snorted. "Patent nonsense."

There was an angry silence while Morosina tutted and Renzo fumed gently. Bella didn't move. After a few seconds, when Bella still hadn't moved or even seemed to breathe, Renzo turned to her, worried.

She had opened the small box and was staring inside, awestruck, her mouth moving as though trying to form words.

"What is it, Bella?" Renzo asked, coming around to look at the contents of the box. "Are you-" he cut off abruptly, staring at the thing inside the box.

Nestled in a white silk cushion and surrounded by cotton balls was a ring, and set in it was the largest, deepest blue and most beautiful sapphire Renzo had ever seen. For a moment he couldn't think, overwhelmed by the thought that the story could be true. After a moment, though, his mind snapped back to Bella's wedding photos, and the large ring on his cousin's finger.

"Your wedding ring," he breathed.

"Yes," said Bella. "I had almost forgotten about it."

Morosina, who had had to pick her way across the room from the window, now came around Bella's other side and gaped at the ring.

"You don't think-" she said. "It couldn't be."

"Oh, but it could," said Bella weakly. "I remember now- I never thought of it before. This ring was a wedding gift from the Isola Valaressos. They had it made and gave it to Alfredo to give to me. I protested at first. I thought it was awfully gaudy. But Alfredo said, 'There are things larger than us behind this ring, Bella. This ring is a token of your family's blessing. It would be unwise to throw it aside.' I wonder if he knew what it really was."

"Remember," said Morosina, "_We_ still don't know what it really is. It might not be your Star of Venice after all, Renzo, so don't get your hopes up."

"Yes, yes," said Renzo impatiently. "But what I said earlier, about giving it away for safekeeping…"

"They could have given it to Alfredo to keep it safe," Bella said. "After all, we moved to Rome after the honeymoon. We were far away from any trouble in Venice."

"They must have known someone was after the jewel," said Morosina, who in spite of herself seemed to be warming to the theme.

The three lapsed into silence for a while, still admiring the ring. Renzo knew now why the stories had praised it so. Its deep blue facets shone and sparkled even in the dim light of the attic. None of the jewelry they had found in the old house had been even close to this.

Presently, Bella removed the ring from its cushion and slipped it onto her left hand. She flexed her fingers, the ring's facets catching the light from the window and tossing it in all different directions. It was intoxicating to watch, and Renzo felt very much like a child oohing and aahing at fireworks.

Something was bothering him, though. He hated to dampen everyone's spirits by bringing it up, but Morosina did it for him.

"Now what?" she said. "How do we know if it's real?"

"Do we trust a jeweler to appraise it?" Renzo added.

"For now, let's keep it in the house," said Bella. "We have to find out some more before we go crazy. How will we know if it's the Star?"

Renzo paused in thought. "I don't know," he said, realizing it for the first time. "No one we asked told us anything specific."

"Well then, I think we ought to keep it with us," said Bella. "From what you've said, this ring could mean trouble, and I'm too old to go getting into this sort of thing."

"Oh, go on, Bella," Morosina said.

"I'm serious," Bella said, using the edge of the trunk to pull herself up. "It's all very well for you to be young again, but have you forgotten what it feels like when your bones start to creak?"

"No, of course not," said Renzo soothingly. "We know."

The small party descended the stairs, Morosina staying behind to shut the window and snatch up the ring box.

When they had reached the kitchen again, Bella sat down with a sigh, gazing at the ring that was still on her finger. Something else had been niggling at Renzo's mind. That was one thing he wished the merry-go-round could have taken from him: all the anxieties that came with being grown-up.

"Bella?" he asked.

"Yes?" she seemed to come out of a reverie.

"I don't mean to impose, but Morosina and I were hoping… may we please stay the night?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Bella said. "Here, let me get the beds ready."

"Let us help you, you silly woman," Morosina said, following her old cousin to the laundry room.

**Meanwhile, in Cannaregio**

Enrico Grimani sat hunched over the desk in one corner of his small apartment. He was poring over yellowed jewellers' and pawnshop records. His heart leaped every time he saw the word "sapphire," but it invariably sank again as he saw the stones' measurements. One carat, three carats... these puny things were not what he was looking for. Where was the biggest, the most beautiful of them all? Not in these crumbling old papers. Not yet, anyway. Enrico sighed and continued searching.

His wife Belinda came and squeezed into his chair next to him, rubbing his shoulders. "What's wrong, darling?" she asked.

Enrico rubbed his temple. "It's not here," he said. "It's not in any of these. I must have looked for sapphires in every entry twice, and there are still more to do." He gestured towards a stack of old papers and ledgers in one corner of the desk.

Belinda took a sheaf of paper off the top of the stack, saying, "Maybe I can help you. Here's a sapphire, look." She showed him the top sheet.

Enrico glanced at the measurements and said, "It's too small. We're looking for something over five carats. _Significantly_ over."

"All right." Belinda said, taking the paper back. She pulled another chair up to the desk. "Why are you all of a sudden so interested in sapphires? Are you thinking of stealing some?" She had done small-scale robbery in her time, they both had. But they had moved on to embezzlement and money laundering, more refined forms of thievery in their view. To go back to robbing jewelry stores would be a step backwards.

"I'm thinking of acquiring _one_," said Enrico, a feverish gleam coming over his eyes. "The Star of Venice." When Belinda looked nonplussed, he continued. "It's a legendary sapphire that will fetch us millions, _millions_, in the right market."

Belinda thought a moment. "Isn't that the one they said was magical? Had special powers or something?"

Enrico snorted. "I don't believe in that," he said. "But I've been doing some research. A good 5-carat sapphire can go for 18,000 Euros. Think about that. We're looking for something that might be ten, might be fifteen carats."

"That's still not millions," Belinda said doubtfully.

Her husband fought the urge to roll his eyes. "We'll obviously demand a high price, and _someone_ out there will pay it," he said. "You know how people are."

It was true; Belinda had learned how to use human nature to her advantage. It helped her convince everyone besides her husband (and daughter, she thought with a mental sneer) that she had only the most innocent of intentions.

"How do you know we'll be able to find it?" She asked. "I mean, it's just a legend."

"And denial is just a river in Egypt," Enrico muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Husband and wife sat side by side, scanning down the inventories and lists, only speaking when they found something promising, until the moon was high over Venice and it was well past midnight. Enrico finally climbed into bed, full of the hope that a new scheme always brought. This one would be exciting. He knew it.


End file.
